


that tender place

by kenhinasuga



Series: we touch and it's home [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: (kinda bc this is already more dialogue than i'm comfortable with lol), Ambiguous/Open Ending, Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Heart-to-Heart, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Time Skip, Siblings, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Vulnerability, kita is the mvp of quiet comfort and support, osakita just Love each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:08:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26970418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kenhinasuga/pseuds/kenhinasuga
Summary: Atsumu drunkenly admits to something that sends Osamu reeling.
Relationships: Kita Shinsuke & Miya Osamu, Kita Shinsuke/Miya Osamu, Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu
Series: we touch and it's home [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1963021
Comments: 6
Kudos: 105





	that tender place

**Author's Note:**

> i'm back again with self-indulgent bs and i really don't know how i'm this productive atm but i'm gonna take what i can get before i fall into a writer's slump again

"You know," Atsumu slurs, gesturing with his glass and sloshing half its contents onto the table. It's the third time he's said those words in the last ten minutes and what followed so far was incoherent and scattered at best. Osamu grabs a couple of tissues and attempts to soak up the liquid pooling on the table, struggling to focus on the task with his vision starting to swim slightly. He furrows his brows and pouts a little, completely missing the rest of Atsumu's sentence.

Atsumu slaps his hand and he looks up with an indignant huff. "What?" Osamu hopes he's meeting his eyes, seeing the world as if reflected on water, shapes changing and flowing, but Atsumu probably won't notice, definitely faring worse than him. Atsumu sighs exasperatedly. "I said, I miss having you on court with me," he says accusingly, wagging his finger at Osamu before dropping his hand onto the table as if it's grown too heavy. It lands right in the mess he made and Osamu grabs more tissues, drying the alcohol off his hand.

"Let's play a game on your next day off," he suggests, voice sounding strange to his ears. He needs to slow down, drink some water, maybe get them more snacks to help soak up the alcohol they've ingested. Osamu reaches for the jug of water and pours them each a glass, spilling only a little. Atsumu downs it like a shot, spluttering and pouring half of it onto himself, and Osamu bursts into laughter. He throws a few tissues at him and Atsumu tries to swat them away, hitting nothing but air. It's all too hilarious and Osamu almost gets his phone out to capture this moment, but Atsumu looks genuinely upset.

"Come on, 'Tsumu, don't make that face. It's just water," he snorts and pushes the box of tissues towards him. Atsumu shakes his head, shoulders dropping. He might be drunk, but Osamu can still tell that this isn't one of his alcohol-induced mood drops, and he leans forward, reaching across the table and poking Atsumu's arm. "Are you still upset about today's loss?" He asks as gently as he can, focus split between his tone and slurring as little as possible.

It's a breach of their unspoken rule: Atsumu visits to drink until he drowns the memories of a particularly bad loss and Osamu holds back on teasing until he mentions it first. Today's loss didn't seem like it would end in Atsumu coming to Onigiri Miya and Osamu had expected a call at most, insults prepared and ready to go, but instead his brother arrived shortly before closing, already smelling of alcohol.

Atsumu doesn't look at him, grabbing the tissues and dabbing at his shirt. Osamu pokes him again and again until he reacts, slapping his hand away and throwing the used tissues at his head. He misses spectacularly, but Osamu doesn't laugh. Even with his vision still swimming, he can tell Atsumu isn’t just upset. He looks _defeated_. "'Tsumu?" Osamu tries again, keeping his hands to himself but leaning even further across the table. "Talk to me," he pleads more earnestly than he would if he were sober and it seems to do the trick.

Atsumu drops his forehead to the table with a groan. "I was completely out of it today," he whines, banging his head a few times. Osamu tries to stop him, but his reflexes are too slow right now, so he settles for patting Atsumu's head. Atsumu swats at his arm and turns his head at an awkward angle to look at him, cheek smooshed against the table. "It's all your fault," he grumbles and points at him with a scowl. Osamu squints, wishing his eyes would just cooperate, and tries to figure out if he's serious or if they've reached the teasing-allowed part of the evening after all.

"I had 'I'm cheering you on'-onigiri delivered to you as usual?" His voice tilts up in question and he sounds stupid even to his own ears, but it's so hard to concentrate with the world around him constantly moving, changing shape, and his tongue too heavy in his mouth. He shouldn't have matched Atsumu's pace when downing shots. "You did," Atsumu mumbles, still pointing at him but no longer scowling. He closes his eyes and stays quiet for so long, Osamu almost thinks he fell asleep, but his finger is still in the air, accusing him of _something_.

Osamu takes a sip from his water and places the glass down harder than he intended. The small sound feels too loud in the sudden silence and he realises the soft background music he put on earlier has stopped playing. Atsumu's eyes flutter open and he drops his accusing finger, palm flat against the table as he heaves himself upright. "Can you call me a taxi?" He asks flatly and Osamu cocks his head at him in confusion. This isn't their usual routine. "You're not staying over?" He questions and Atsumu shakes his head. "I kept seeing you on court today. I'm tired of your face," he states so nonchalantly it takes Osamu's brain a moment to catch up to the wrongness of the statement.

Atsumu starts getting up, wobbling a little and bracing himself against the table for support, and Osamu watches him blankly until he's steady on his feet. He isn't sure if he should make a joke ( _We have the same face, ‘Tsumu_.) or attempt to make sense of what he said, but there’s something unspoken there that he needs to figure out. "I wasn't on court today, 'Tsumu, I haven't been for a while," he corrects him softly and Atsumu stares at him like he just said something so obvious it counts as stupid. "No shit, Samu," Atsumu retorts with such venom it feels like a slap across the face.

He's reeling from the intensity of it, unable to put the pieces together. They're all floating through his brain in slow-motion, but he's always a step behind trying to catch them. Atsumu announces he's going to the restroom, disappearing before Osamu can pull himself together and stop him, and he knows he's missed his chance. He isn't sure he would've been able to use it had he managed to grab hold of it.

Osamu fumbles for his phone and dials the taxi service, on speed dial since Shinsuke suggested it after a very embarrassing drunken escapade that he'd rather forget. Atsumu returns shortly after he hangs up and the tension feels thick enough to cut. Osamu isn't sure he could wield a knife right now without hurting them both in the process and he follows Atsumu outside, waiting with him in silence for his taxi to arrive. It doesn't take long, streets relatively empty at this time, and Atsumu nods at him in goodbye. He slides into the backseat and closes the door without looking at him once, and Osamu waves after the taxi, feeling numb.

He returns inside and locks up, grabbing a mop and rag from the kitchen to clean up the mess they made. The world is still strangely shapeshifting around him, but he manages to focus on the point he fixates, going through the motions as he removes the evidence of spilled alcohol and soaked tissues sticking to the floor. It's the familiarity of the work that allows his thoughts to drift, scattering and reassembling, and he's so close to breaking without truly grasping why.

Osamu returns the mop and rag to the kitchen before heading upstairs to his apartment. He's tired and drunk and he just wants to sleep until he's sober and capable of making sense of what just happened, but his thoughts are too loud, scrambling and racing, tripping over themselves. He gets out his phone and calls Shinsuke, dropping onto his couch like dead weight and desperately hoping his call gets through. It rings and rings for a while before the answering beep sounds and Osamu's heart lifts. "Osamu? Is everything okay?" Shinsuke's voice is a pleasant rumble, low and slightly throaty the way it gets when he's just woken up, and Osamu starts crying.

It's like his dam has broken and now everything is overflowing, spilling from his eyes in thick droplets. Shinsuke is quiet on the other end, steady breathing the only thing tethering Osamu, and he waits silently for Osamu's broken sobs to mellow. "I'm here. I'm here," he murmurs softly and Osamu curls his fingers more tightly around the phone, pressing it closer to his ear as if he could _feel_ Shinsuke if he just tries hard enough. He takes a deep breath and wipes his hand across his face, eyes already stinging a little. "Atsumu just left," he says in lieu of an explanation, still unsure he has the words to voice what his heart already seems to know.

"Did you see the match?" He asks tentatively, hoping it's the right place to start. Shinsuke hums affirmatively and Osamu squeezes his eyes shut. "It wasn't _that_ bad, right?" They both know what he's referring to. It wasn't bad enough for Atsumu to come to him. "The game was fine," Shinsuke agrees softly, but Osamu can hear an unvoiced addition in his tone and presses his phone even closer to his ear. He listens to Shinsuke's breathing, holding his own breath and waiting for a sign he's made a decision whether to say it or not. There's a soft inhale and Osamu releases his breath. "The game was fine," he repeats, hesitating for a moment. "But Atsumu wasn't..." he trails off and Osamu opens his eyes, blinking until the stars disappear from his vision.

They rewatch the game, matching their timing, and Shinsuke quietly points out the moments Atsumu seems to be somewhere else. Osamu didn't realise before, only half-focused on the game with the shop keeping him busy, but Atsumu doesn't move like himself. It's like he keeps regressing to his high school self during the match, setting to his spikers as if he were setting to someone else. Osamu shuts his laptop before they're halfway through. "How long has he been like this?" He whispers into the phone, afraid of the answer, and Shinsuke sighs softly. "Never this bad, but I've caught glimpses of it before," he replies honestly and Osamu drops his head against his laptop, swallowing thickly against the tears threatening to spill once more.

"It's been _years_ ," he croaks out and Shinsuke sighs again. "For you, maybe, but to him everything's been a rush." His voice carries a quiet certainty that gives Osamu pause and he lifts his head, leaning back in his chair until he's dangerously balancing on the back legs. "How did I not see it?" He breathes out, not expecting an answer, and stares at the ceiling, a white canvas for his thoughts. "You've been busy yourself," Shinsuke answers anyway, but it's too kind even for him, _especially_ for him, and Osamu huffs in disbelief. "Don't." The chair teeters dangerously underneath him and he grabs hold of the edge of the table to keep his balance.

Shinsuke goes quiet for a moment, breathing inaudible for the first time since they've started the call, and Osamu wishes he was here, holding him together with his presence alone. He groans softly, still no sound but the faint static coming from Shinsuke's end, and tightens his hold on the table's edge. "I'm his _brother_ ," he says almost challengingly, as if it would explain everything falling to pieces inside his head right now, as if Shinsuke would kick out the back legs from under him without being there to catch him.

"You are. And?" Shinsuke exhales softly and Osamu freezes, realisation hitting him like a ton of bricks. He _did_ think it would explain everything. Volleyball was their first love, a manifestation of their bond and dream of a future side by side, giving them an outlet for their friendly rivalry that still kept them tethered. He cut that tether and learned it was only one of many keeping them together, but walking away is easier than being left behind.

Osamu leans forward, all four legs of the chair touching the floor again. "I'm still here," he whispers, wishing it would reach Atsumu with the quiet conviction he feels, and allows more tears to spill over. Shinsuke starts humming, the melody familiar and comforting, a song from his childhood that his grandmother used to sing to him, and Osamu rests his head on his laptop again, closing his eyes and letting the tears fall. The soft notes wash over him, wrapping around his heart like a blanket, and for a moment he can almost feel Shinsuke right there with him, fingers in his hair and breath ghosting across his neck.

His humming stops and Osamu inhales shakily. "Can you come over?" He pleads in a whisper, trying to preserve the quiet tenderness of the moment. "I'm already dressed," Shinsuke returns equally quietly and Osamu nods stupidly, forehead rubbing against his laptop. "Thank you," he breathes out in relief and listens to the soft sounds of Shinsuke leaving his house and getting into his car. The call disconnects shortly after, signal gone as he starts driving, and the silence wraps around Osamu like barbed wire.

He heaves himself out of his chair and returns to the couch, lying down and staring at his phone. His finger hovers over the chat with Atsumu long enough his screen goes black. He feels strangely sober, body awfully tender and heart even more so. Osamu drops his phone onto his stomach. This isn't a conversation they should have via texts. He closes his eyes and lets his thoughts take him wherever they please.

Osamu is drifting in a random memory when he hears light footsteps coming up the stairs. He sits up and listens to the soft sounds of a key sliding into the lock, turning and unlocking the door with a quiet click. It's one of his favourite sequences, telling Shinsuke to let himself in whenever he can come up with an excuse just to hear it. The door opens and a few moments later Shinsuke quietly enters his living room. He halts on the threshold, eyes roaming over him, and Osamu opens his arms in invitation.

Shinsuke comes to him without hesitation, sitting down next to him and leaning into his offered embrace. Osamu wraps his arms around him and pulls him onto his lap, burying his face against his neck and inhaling his scent. Shinsuke slides his arms free and cards his fingers into his hair, cradling his head gently. Osamu breathes deeply for a while, coating his lungs in _Shinsuke, Shinsuke, Shinsuke_ until they stop hurting. The gentle tugging at his hair and the steady pulse under his lips lull him into a place between serenity and joviality that's home and love and warmth, and he presses a kiss against the hollow of Shinsuke's throat before leaning back.

Shinsuke cups his face in his hands and looks at him in that way his memories can never quite capture, always falling short of the real thing. He smoothes his thumbs across his cheeks and kisses his forehead, lips lingering just long enough to sear the feeling into Osamu's skin. "Let's go to bed," he murmurs, but doesn't move away and Osamu tilts his head back, expecting a kiss.

Shinsuke makes him work for it, offering his chin first, next his cheek and then his nose, and he kisses everything he's being offered. Their eyes meet and Shinsuke smiles softly, covering Osamu's eyes with his hand, the image of his smile imprinted on his eyelids. It's a featherlight brush at first, barely there before it's gone, and Osamu's lips part slightly, intoxicated in a different way. Shinsuke's hand disappears, but Osamu keeps his eyes closed, waiting for the next contact. A light pressure follows, just long enough to feel corporeal, and he feels the day's tension drain out of his bones.

Nothing happens for a while, but the delay gives him the time to sink into the moment: Shinsuke's weight on him, warmth seeping through his clothes; work-roughened palms on his skin, steady and secure; breath ghosting across his face, every exhale like a kiss of its own. Osamu loosens his hold on him, muscles relaxing and arms losing their desperation to cling to onto him, and Shinsuke finally slots their lips together, kissing him with gentle care.

(Osamu wakes up to ukon tea and a bowl of ramen, the perfect hangover cure. Afterwards, Shinsuke joins him in the shower, massaging shampoo into his scalp and getting rid of the last remnants of his headache. He doesn't talk about leaving and Osamu drags him back to bed to spend their Saturday with tangled limbs and kiss-burned skin.)

(On Sunday, Shinsuke drives Osamu to Osaka, dropping him off at Atsumu's apartment and kissing him see-you-later, never goodbye. Osamu doesn't have all the right words when he's sitting at Atsumu's table, but it's the first step. He doesn’t know how many it’s going to take, how often he’ll trip up, but he’s _here_ and he won’t let Atsumu forget it.)

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading !!!! comments are always appreciated <33 (i've been pretty good at replying in a timely manner for once ... yay)
> 
> big thanks to kuro and zel for reading this before posting and indulging me in my self-indulgence <33333333 ily


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